


Let’s Build A Paradise From These Ruins

by BlackUnicorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Auror Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drarry, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Draco Malfoy, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Grimmauld Place, Happy Ending, Harry Has Issues, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Nurse Draco, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 08:29:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: Ten years. Ten years had gone by since the war, and life had gone on.The world was still turning and a simple accident would bring together two young men who had thought their paths would never cross again and maybe, just maybe, this was a second chance for both of them.





	Let’s Build A Paradise From These Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling nostalgic and re-read the books so you can totally blame J.K.R. for this...  
> Caution: Extremely saccharine especially to the end...and yes...I stole those last words from the book...

There was a strange smell in the air and a constant, beeping noise right next to his ear.

He noticed that breathing was hard. Painful. His head throbbing.

He remembered coming out of the shop, a bag of crisps in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other and then…and then…

“You’re awake then,” an only all too familiar voice said. A voice that he hadn’t heard in almost ten years. A voice that quite obviously belonged to –

“Malfoy?”

“Potter.”  
There he stood, tall and skinny, his short short and darker than Harry remembered but his face just as pale, with intense, stormy, grey eyes.

“What – what are you doing here? Where am I?”

“I work here, Potter,” Malfoy answered, “And you’re in a hospital.”

And indeed, Harry noticed the blue scrubs Malfoy was wearing but… _I don’t understand_ …

“There was an accident,” Malfoy explained, still standing in front of the bed, “You’ll live. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get doctor Askan.”

* * *

 

Draco cursed himself internally for waiting in Potter’s room and he cursed Potter for getting himself run over by a bloody car and landing in this hospital out of all places.

At first, he had thought he was imagining things but there was no mistaking that unruly bird’s nest Potter called hair or those insanely green eyes or that damned scar on his forehead…it really was him.

Harry fucking Potter.

The Boy Who Lived to make Draco’s live hell.

The Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Draco scoffed at his own thoughts.

Nani Askan was a positively tiny woman but with more balls than Draco had ever seen on any Gryffindor. She was young, just a few years older than Draco, with brown eyes, sparkling with life and passions, her hair covered by a brightly coloured Hijab.

When he and the doctor entered Potter’s room, the other man lay in his bed exactly the way Draco had left him, looking beat up and miserable.

“Mister…Potter, is it?” Askan asked and Potter nodded, “I’m doctor Askan. Do you remember what happened?”

“I went out to the shop to get some crisps and soda…no idea how I ended up here.”  
“You were hit by a car,” the woman explained, “You have several broken ribs and a concussion. I’d like to keep you here for observation ‘till tomorrow.” Potter nodded again. “Is there anyone we need to contact to let them know you’re here?”

There was a long moment of silence and Draco felt himself frown…surely there would be a small crowd, all desperate to see Potter…?

“Just…just my boss,” Potter answered eventually, “I suppose I won’t be going to work tomorrow.”

“I should think not,” Askan chuckled, “A concussion is no laughing matter.”

“I didn’t think it was.”  
“Very well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to press the emergency button.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor left with one last kind smile and they were alone once more. Draco wondered where Potter’s glasses were or if he didn’t need them anymore. He also thought that Potter would simply ignore him until a lopsided grin appeared on the other Wizard’s face, “I don’t suppose you have owls around here, do you?” he asked jokingly.

Draco couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, “What do you think?” he retorted, “This is a Muggle hospital. And before you ask, we don’t have any fireplaces either.” Potter nodded, sighing. “Your wand’s with your other stuff on the bedside table, raised quite a few eyebrows,” Draco went on, “Sent a Patronus to your boss, I’ll make sure no one comes in, and tomorrow you can go to St. Mungos. They’ll fix you up in no time.”

Draco turned around to leave the room nut was held back when Potter called out his name, “Malfoy,” he said, “Thank you.”

The blond gulped and didn’t turn back. This was so not what he had signed up for.

“I’ll check in with you later.”

* * *

Malfoy did indeed check in with him later.

Harry wasn’t sure what time it was just that it was dark outside and felt exhausted despite having done nothing than lie in bed for hours and hours.

They didn’t talk. Didn’t even look at each other. Malfoy had simply come in and sat down on the chair next to Harry’s bed. It was weird. Harry did however notice that Malfoy looked considerably better than the last time he had seen him – the trials after the War when Lucius Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban while Narcissa and Draco had been pardoned. Harry knew that one of the conditions of Malfoy’s sentence, or lack thereof, was that he return to Hogwarts to help rebuild the Castle and finish his education, but what had happened to the Slytherin after that was anybody’s guess.

“Why here?” Harry asked when he could no longer stop himself, “Why not St. Mungo’s?”

Malfoy gave him a flat look, “Do you honestly believe,” he began very slowly, “That St. Mungo’s would employ people with this?” Harry’s eyes wandered to Malfoy’s forearm where he could see the Dark Mark, faded and harmless but still prominent. An everlasting reminder of the past.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, eyes still fixed on the Mark.

“What for?”  
“I should have done more. I should have –”

“Jesus, Potter,” Malfoy interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose, “There’s nothing more you could have done, okay? You can’t save everyone, no matter what they call you and I got what I deserved…not even that. I fucked up, I have to live with the consequences.”

“But –”

“No ‘but’,” Malfoy cut in again, “I like my job, Potter, my life as it is now. I get to help people, no one treats me like a serial killer and no one has any stupid expectations…I’m happy…are you?”

That shut him up because the thing was…he wasn’t happy…hadn’t been in a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated.

“Don’t be.” Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something else but in that moment the door to the room opened and an elderly woman with wrinkles around her eyes entered.

“Draco?” the nurse asked surprised, “What are you still doing here? Your shift was over half an hour ago.” And was it just Harry or was Malfoy blushing…?

“I was just leaving, Ems,” Malfoy announced and stood up.

“Get some sleep, hun, and don’t forget to eat something, god knows, you’re way too skinny”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Malfoy answered, his voice soft and affectionate and so very different from the way he had sounded in school or even form how he had spoke to Harry earlier – and that, above all, was maybe the most confusing thing…

_It’s like I don’t even know him…maybe I never have…_

* * *

 

Draco had absolutely no idea what had compelled him to come back to the hospital the next morning – it was his day off after all – and yet here he was, bright and early, walking through the doors of his work place.

Except for, of course, for the part where he only knew all too well…

“I brought you clothes, Potter,” he announced as soon as he entered Potter’s room. The man in question stared at him dumbfounded for several moments before Draco decided that it was getting all kinds of awkward and uncomfortable and simply stepped forward to drop the bag onto Potter’s bed. Potter blinked.

“Get dressed so we can get you out of here, unless of course, you’d prefer to leave in that hospital gown. I’m sure Emma would appreciate the view.”

“So she would,” the warm and familiar voice of his co-worker and friend came from behind his back, “What are you doing here on your day off, Draco?”

“Just picking Potter up, before he manages to get run over by something else,” Draco answered as nonchalantly as possible.

“So he _is_ your friend?” Emma inquired happily and turned to Potter who still stared at them and looked like he was about to have a heart attack, “He works way too much,” she told the brunet, “Sometime I worry for him.”

“That’s sweet Ems but there’s no need. I’ve got you.” Draco winked at her but unfortunately Emma had always been immune to his charm and this time was no different as she raised a finger at him, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, young man,” she said before ordering Draco to wait outside.

Fifteen minutes later Potter emerged from the hospital clad in Draco’s clothes which were undeniably too small for him and clung to Potter like a second skin. He joined Draco who was currently leaning against the wall, one leg bent, smoking his second cigarette in a row.

“Well, come one then. Let’s go.” Draco dropped his fag on the ground and started walking towards the parking lot, Potter close on his heels.

“Wait…you have a car?” Potter asked, clearly astonished.

“Obviously,” Draco drawled, “How’d you think I get here every morning?” He didn’t wait for Potter to respond but instead carefully manoeuvred him into the passenger seat, got behind the wheel himself, and started driving.

* * *

 

Harry thought he might have severely damaged his brain in that car accident – how else could he explain a world in which Draco Malfoy worked in a Muggle hospital and drove a Muggle car?

If the whole thing was weird for the blond, he didn’t let it on, simply stared straight ahead and drove through the morning traffic of London. He looked confident behind the wheel. Relaxed. Like this was, in fact, something he did every day.

After maybe twenty minutes, it occurred to Harry that Malfoy didn’t even know where he was living and yet seemed to drive with a definite destination ahead.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, not quite managing to filter the suspicion out of his voice.

“St. Mungo’s,” Malfoy answered as if it was obvious. Maybe was.

“Right…thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Malfoy shrugged him off, “It’s the least I can do.”

Harry frowned, confused as to what the blond could mean by that but he didn’t elaborate and Harry didn’t dare ask. This was so different from what Harry would have imagined, _Malfoy_ was so different…it was both very intriguing and very scary.

“Is this weird?” he blurted out, “I feel like this is weird.”

Malfoy let out a sound that might have been a laugh, “Sorry that I don’t live up to your expectations of the evil Death Eater that continuously plans the demise of yours truly – or actually, no, I’m not. People change, Potter.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, memories replaying in his head. Faces of people he had once known so well. “They do.”

They settled into another silence but this one felt more natural to Harry, like they had always done this, sitting side by side in a car and moving through the city at a creep rate, one traffic jam after another.

“Malfoy,” Harry said when, finally, St. Mungo’s was near.

“Draco.”

“Sorry?”

“My name is Draco.”

Harry blinked, he had not excepted that.

“Only if you call me Harry.”

“I can do that,” Mal – _Draco_ said and there was a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“Draco,” Harry began again, trying out the name, “I feel like we should maybe start over. Y’know? Try and be friends?”

And image flashed before his mind, two eleven-year-old boys on the Hogwarts Express at the start of a new life period, one hand extended as an offer, an offer that was never accepted.

Draco stopped that car, not even acknowledging Harry’s request and for a moment, one, long, painful moment, Harry thought he would decline just out of spite, but then the blond turned towards Harry and, once again, held out his hand – and Harry took it.

“Pick me up tomorrow at 12,” Draco simply said, his face clear of any emotions.

“Okay.” Harry smiled. He couldn’t help it.

“Now get out of my car,” Draco demanded but the once ever-present animosity in voice was gone, replaced by something that Harry thought was a slightly mocking undertone.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” Harry asked, looking at the entrance of the Wizarding hospital.

“I’m not going in there,” Draco simply stated, “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

“Yeah…see you tomorrow.” And then he did leave the car and stared walking towards the hidden doors but before he went in he turned around one last time. Draco was still there, watching him go.

“I’m going insane,” he muttered to himself after he had entered St. Mungos.

“Aren’t we all,” the portrait of an old wizard next to the door said and Harry got into the queue behind a man who had flowers growing out of his ears.

* * *

 

It was hard concentrating on work when you were supposed to have lunch with one Harry James Potter in just a few hours’ time but, somehow, Draco managed.

When he finally exited the hospital at 12 noon, Harry was already waiting for him.

“I brought your clothes,” he said as a way of greeting and held out the bag, Draco recognized as his own.

“Thank you,” he said, lighting his cigarette, and together they started walking down the street. The conversation was stilted as they passed shops and pubs on their way to Draco’s favourite café in which he ate lunch almost every day and he couldn’t help but notice the way Harry held himself; tense and always on high alert, one hand buried in the pocket of his jacket in which he, undoubtfully, was clutching his wand. For a second, Draco thought that he was the reason for Harry’s discomfort but then, Harry had been the one to suggest a new start, hadn’t he? And Draco remembered his year in America…remembered the soldiers coming back from war, their hollow cheeks and haunted eyes, the fear in their faces, the horror of what they had seen and done, and he remembered how they, too, kept a weapon close by, ready to defend themselves against the enemy they had left behind.

_He took his wand with him just to go to the shop around the corner_ , Draco mused, _that’s like having a knife or gun on you while shopping. You don’t do that when you feel safe. You do that when you feel threatened, which means_ –

“Well, this is not what I expected,” Harry chuckled when they entered the café.

“You should stop having expectations about me then,”

“Clearly.”

He could see what Harry meant though. _Martyna’s_ was a tiny, little coffee shop, run by an old, Polish couple, the tables where made from solid, dark wood, and the walls were covered with pictures, news paper articles, and clocks. Loads of clocks. But the coffee was good, and Pietro, Martyna’s husband, made wonderful pastries.

“Why don’t you sit down, I need to go to the toilet,” Draco said and, without waiting for a reply, he descended the narrow staircase in the back of the shop. He had a theory…and, as expected, when he came back upstairs, Harry had chosen the table in the back of the shop, out of the line sight from the windows, with a clear view of the door. The way Harry was sitting, he would be able to see anything that was going on.

A wave of sympathy rushed over Draco. He knew exactly how Harry was feeling…he’d been there.

“So,” Draco began after he had sat down and they had ordered, “How did St. Mungo’s go?”

Harry shrugged, “I’ve had worse.”

“True, but that wasn’t my question.”

“They fixed my ribs in seconds but even the best Healer can’t just magic away a concussion, so I’ve taken leave from work for the next couple of days,” Harry explained.

“Are you still an Auror, then? I know you started training when I went back o Hogwarts.”  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded and sipped at his tea, “I am…”

Draco frowned, “You don’t sound particularly excited about it,” he noted.

“Oh, no, I am!” Harry disagreed quickly, “It’s great, really, exciting I mean, and –” the brunet faltered, his eyes unfocused as he stared at something behind Draco only he could see.

“Harry?” Draco asked tentatively and Harry seemed to snap back into focus.

“No, you know what? Fuck it. I hate it,” he exclaimed, “I don’t want to be an Auror, I never did, not after – not _after_ -  but everyone expected me to join them and it’s all I was ever good for, all I was ever good at, fighting Dark Wizards but I just…I don’t want to fight anymore…” Harry admitted quietly, “And I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this, I just…” words seemed to have left the Wizard and all he was now was a tired, young man that had grown up too fast and had now reached the end of a line.

“Well…you know what you need to do then, don’t you?” Draco asked and finally, Harry met his gaze, a question in his eyes, “Quit your job, do something you really want to do.”

“It’s not that easy,” Harry protested.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco teased and the words had the desired effect, Harry returned his smile.

“You wish.”

Something changed, then. They were smiling at each other, openly and genuinely, and Draco thought he saw something like gratitude in those green eyes.

“What _do_ you want to do?” Draco inquired.

“Honestly? I have no idea…” Harry shook his head, “Just…something different.”

“Well, that’s a start, I guess…and I really need to get back to work before Emma gets angry and believe me, no one wants to deal with an angry Emma,” he joked, getting another smile from Harry. He looked nice when he smiled.

They got up and payed and just when Draco was about to turn left to walk back to the hospital, Harry asked almost sheepishly, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

For the past few years, Harry had always made sure to be the first one at the office and to be the last one to leave, lest he have free time because free time meant thinking and thinking wasn’t a good idea these days…

Today, however, Harry didn’t mind.

He was back at Grimmauld Place, after the War, after the reunions and the funerals, Harry had returned to the old house of his dead godfather and, as much as he despised the dark, mouldy building and the memories attached to it, he just couldn’t bring himself to part from it.

Not much had changed during the past decade. The troll foot still stood at the bottom of the stairs, even though there was no Tonks to run into it, Sirius old room was still covered in Gryffindor red and Muggle posters, even if there was no Sirius to sleep in it, and Walburga Black’s portrait was still behind the curtains, even though there was hardly anyone left to insult. No one but Harry, and Harry never made any noise that would cause her to come out and scream.

A lot of people had told him that it was depressing, Harry just thought that it fit his mood.

_What_ do _you want to do?_

Draco’s words echoed through his head as he manually scrubbed the kitchen counter – Kreacher had died a few years back and Harry couldn’t imagine getting another House-Elf.

_What do I want to do?_

That was just the question wasn’t it? He didn’t know. But maybe…maybe…

_Quit your job, do something you really want to do_ …but could he just do that?

_No, no, that’s the wrong question_ , the question was, _do I want to do that?_

And the answer to that was clear.

_But what then?_

For first time, in a long time, Harry actually allowed himself to pursue that line of thought, allowed himself to think past tomorrow…

Nodding to himself, Harry abandoned the cloth in his hand and quickly summoned a sheet of paper and a pen.

 

Things I enjoy doing:

* * *

 

“I believe I have struck a friendship with Harry Potter,” Draco announced when he entered the small flat he was sharing with his mother.

“Good evening, son, it’s lovely to see you, too, how was your day?” Narcissa replied without looking up from the crosswords she was doing.

“Mother, have you heard what I just said?”

“My ears are in perfect working order, Draco dear, and, frankly, I do not see why you are concerned about this, considering your history with the boy.”

“Precisely!” Draco cried out and fell into the chair opposite his mother who had finally set down the paper in favour of giving her son a pouted look, “Oh, do shut up.”

“I have not said anything, darling,” Narcissa said innocently.

“You didn’t have to, you were making your face.”

“And what face would that be?”

“The one where you look like you know something, I don’t.”  
“I know no such thing,” the blonde woman replied, “And I trust you possess enough self-awareness to follow any line of thought I might or might not have had.”

Draco let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand over his face. Sometimes, his mother was a truly evil woman.

“I am concerned for Harry,” he eventually confessed.

“Oh, so it’s Harry now?”

“Mother!”

“I do apologize. Please, continue.”

Draco sighed, “I believe Harry is not in a good place…he reminds me of myself after the War…”

“I see…and you wish to help him.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement and yet, Draco felt reluctant to agree.

“It’s not –”

“But it is,” Narcissa cut in, “It’s a simple question. Do you or do you not wish to help Harry Potter?”

“I do,” Draco whispered.

“Then,” his mother began, making sure his eyes were on her before she continued, “You have already reached a decision, have you not? If you are looking for my approval, you have it, not that you need it by any means. Things have changed, goodness, just take a look around.”

And Draco did, even though he knew exactly what he would be seeing. The flat they were renting was truly small, with two bedroom that barely fit a bed and a wardrobe, a tiny bathroom with rusty pipes, and a living space with a little kitchenette. They could hear the traffic through the closed windows and their arguing neighbours through the walls.

“I’m simply not sure if it’s wise,” Draco began but Narcissa cut him off once more, “Wise?” she repeated, “Darling, such things are never _wise_. Was it wise of me to marry Lucius? I do not think so. Did it turn out to be a mistake? Why, certainly. Do I regret it? No.”

“But hat was different,” Draco argued.

“Maybe so, but the principal is the same. Your father and I did love each other once, you know? What became of that love is a completely different story.”

“You make it sound like Harry and I were dating,” Draco remarked pained, “We’re not. We’re barely friends.”

“Of course you are, dear,” Narcissa agreed all too readily and the amused undertone in her voice was definitely not a good sign, Draco decided but before he could say anything else, his mother stood up and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Laura invited me over for drinks. Dinner is in the fridge. Have a lovely evening.”

“You too,” Draco muttered into the empty space after the door had fallen shut.

It would be a horrendous evening.

* * *

 

They did meet up the next day, any the day after that, and the day after that, and before Harry could even process what was happening, it had been a month since the accident and he and Draco had become friends. Close friends. It was weird and confusing and so utterly _right_ that Harry sometimes wondered how they could have ever been anything else.

In the small space of the coffee shop, the two young man found themselves exchanging good-natured banter and long, serious discussions, sharing memories of the past and plans for the future, making small and big confessions, and for the first time in a very long time, Harry felt _understood_.

“I never even told Ron and Hermione all this,” he had said one day after giving the more painful details of his childhood with the Dursleys; the beatings, the constant hunger, the solitude and darkness of the cupboard under the stairs. “I still get panic attacks sometimes. I hate feeling trapped.”

Draco had nodded. There was no judgement in his eyes, no pity.

“My father barely hit me,” the blond had said, “He had other ways of making sure I lived up to his expectations. No matter what I did, he always let me know that it would never be enough. After our first year, I was so excited, there was so much I wanted to tell him, I behaved ‘undignified’, so he put a silencing charm on me. It wasn’t the first time he did that but usually it was just for a few hours, maybe a few days. That summer he didn’t lift it for a month. I never showed any excitement in front of him ever again.”

“There was a House-Elf,” Draco had told him another time, “Jilli. I was about five and Jilli was my friend. She cared for me, made me food, helped me whenever I needed help. My father noticed of course, so he had her executed while he made me watch because ‘it does not become for a Wizard to befriend such creatures that are beneath us’.”

“Have you ever gone to see him,” Harry had asked then.

“Once,” Draco had replied, “My mother and I went to Azkaban; me to announce that I was disinheriting myself, and mother to tell him that she wanted a divorce.”

“I’m still afraid of fire,” Draco had confessed another time.

But also, “You knew it was me. At the Manor.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do you have any idea what it was like? Living with _him_? The Manor was never a happy place but it was my _home_ …I used to love the drawing room and then… _he_ …came and…his snake? Nagini? He always made a show of feeding her. Brought in Muggles, usually children, and let her kill them. Right there. On the table. While we all had to watch. When he was angry with me, and he was that a lot, he had father use the Cruciatus Curse on me, or he made me use it on mother. It was his favourite punishment. When I saw you there, I knew it was my only chance to put a stop to it all. I knew I had to save you.”

It was a Friday and they met up once more, Martyna served them tea, coffee and a few pastries without them even needing to order anymore and Harry cast the usual, discrete _Muffliato_.

“I never gave you back your wand,” Harry remarked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I know,” there was a small smile on Draco’s face, “It’s yours now. You took it from me and I don’t need it.”

“So got a new one?”

“No,” Draco shook his head, “I used mothers during my last year at school and after that I never bothered to buy one.”

“So you basically live as Muggles? Your mother and you?”

“Basically.”

Of course, Harry had already suspected that. The way Draco told of his life, there was little place for Magic in it.

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” Draco answered, a wistful look in his eyes, “I miss Transfiguration…I always enjoyed that best. And I miss Quidditch.”

“Come to Diagon Alley with me,” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself and Draco raised a single eyebrow at him, “I mean…if you want to, that is…”

“Harry…” Draco sighed, “I’m not welcome there.”

“Use a glamour.”

“What about you?”

Harry frowned, “What about me?”

“Famous Harry Potter,” Draco said with a barely supressed grin, “Can’t even go to a bookshop without making the front page.” The familiar words startled a laugh out of Harry and they both had to take a few moments to compose themselves.

“Just think about it. Please? You’re my friend, Draco, and you miss the Wizarding World, and I just so happen to be able to help you with that.”

They fell into another silence. It was relaxed and natural and Harry took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was surprise to see that three men had entered the shop without him even noticing, he was even more surprised that it didn’t bother him half as much as it used to. He felt safe.

“Alright,” Draco spoke up, “I’ll come with you. Tomorrow. Pick me up at my place at 10 – we’ll get breakfast on the way.”

“So demanding,” Harry teased but he was pleased that Draco had agreed.

* * *

 

The next morning, the doorbell rang at 10 a.m. on the dot. Draco had to hold back a snicker when he saw Harry’s flushed face as Narcissa had opened the door with a stern face.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said rather awkwardly.

“Black, if anything, but you might as well call me Narcissa, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry.”

Finally, the blonde woman smiled broadly and offered her hand, “It’s lovely to finally meet you properly, Harry.”

“Same here.” The poor man seemed confused by Narcissa’s behaviour and Draco decided to take pity on him, “Leave him alone, Mother,” he intervened and stepped forward.

“Alright, alright,” she gave in, still smiling, “I won’t ask any questions.”

“Let’s go,” Draco said and quickly put on his jacket. He took hold of Harry’s wrist and practically dragged him downstairs onto the street.

Diagon Alley was nothing like Draco remembered it when he had last seen it. The cold, empty streets were buzzing with live once more and the shops that had been abandoned, had reopened – Draco had completely forgotten how truly (and literally) magical this place could be.

Any concerns Draco had had proofed unnecessary the second they entered the narrow street; while people certainly stared at Harry, whispered about him, or gave him broad smiles, no one even as much as spared a second glance at Draco. Harry had transfigured his hair to a deep maroon, with fitting, brown eyes; his features were smoother, the lower half of his face covered by thick stubble and he was wearing a pair of Harry’s robes over his clothes. He was unrecognizable and bit by bit, Draco relaxed.

After Broomstix, they went to Quality Quidditch Supplies, Rosa Lee Teabag, Flourish and Blotts and, eventually, Florean Fortescue’s, where they sat down to have some ice cream.

“You look happy,” Harry observed after a long moment of silence, there was an amused glint in his eyes and a smile playing around his lips.

Draco shrugged, “It’s nice to be back here,” he confessed, his gaze wandering upon the back full of books he had bought earlier and Harry chuckled, “What?”

“Nothing, just…who’d have thought you’d be such a bookworm? We spent nearly an hour in Flourish and Blotts.”

“I wasn’t second best of the year just for nothing, you know?” Draco replied, aiming for his usual bite but failing by miles.

“You and Hermione would have gotten along great had things be different.”

_I know_ , Draco thought, “Speaking of which,” he said, “I would have expected her and Weasley to knock my door in weeks ago and demand what my intentions with you were.”

The second the words had left his mouth, Draco knew that he had hit a sensitive spot. They hadn’t talked about their friends even though Draco _had_ wondered…

Harry gave him a mirthless smile and replied, “We’re not exactly close anymore…” It wasn’t exactly a surprise but somehow it still saddened Draco to hear it out loud. The Golden Trio. Broken apart…

“What happened?” he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Harry considered him for a long moment, “We changed,” he finally said, “After everything that had happened…Ron and Hermione had each other to…to deal with everything and I…I didn’t really deal with at all. I drank too much…the only way to fall asleep without waking up a few hours later, crying and screaming…We weren’t the same people we had been before but…they – or Ron, really – didn’t see that or maybe he didn’t want to… I was so very angry, back then. Afterwards. I felt…purposeless and betrayed. By my parents. Dumbledore. Snape. Everyone. It was like…they had all known what was going to happen but none of them had done anything to prevent it. My whole life seemed…staged…like it had never been my own, always dictated by someone else. And then there were Ron and Hermione who were finally happy together and…I felt…bitter. So many people had died. Because of me. I know that’s not how it happened, but that’s what it felt like. What I felt like. And all those things just came crushing down on me. Then, Ginny and I decided that we were better of as friends and Ron got really angry with me, accused me of using her, breaking her heart, even though Ginny told him that I hadn’t. That it was our choice. Her choice. And then came your trial…Ron didn’t understand how I could speak out for you. How I could forgive you. We had a fight. A bad one. And we both said things we shouldn’t have said. Not like that anyway…since then we…we don’t really speak anymore. I see Hermione at work, of course, and she’s been great. Overbearing but great. And Ginny comes to visit whenever she’s got the time…” Harry trailed off, his gaze becoming distant, “I miss them,” he whispered and before Draco knew what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand on the table, squeezing it gently.

“You know, when I offered you my hand on the train – actually, when I met you in Madame Melkins that first time – Harry, all I ever wanted was your friendship,” Draco said, his hand still holding Harry’s, “You turned me down for a Weasley. That was the greatest insult I could have ever imagined at that time…and…I was jealous. Seeing you three together. You loved each other so much…I wanted that, too. Jealousy turned to anger and I tried to convince myself that I hated you, even though I never really did. I loved being the one who could really get a rise out of you. I loved being the one you payed attention to. It was like a drug. Mind you, it might not have been the kind of attention I had craved but it worked. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I know I was a git and I made your live hell, all your lives, and I know I owe a lot people a lot of apologies.” Something had changed, Draco realised, his eyes falling down onto the table, onto their hands, onto their firmly entwined hands, and when he looked up again, Harry was blushing lightly but also smiling, “I’m sorry, Harry,” he continued, “For everything I did back then.”

“We were just kids,” Harry replied, his eyes suspiciously wet.

“We were,” Draco nodded, “Do you have any idea what it was like? Coming to Hogwarts, eleven years old, and the whole school hates you just because of the decision of some stupid old hat…”

“I never thought of it that way,” Harry admitted, “It seems rather unfair now that I think about it.”

“It was.” Draco agreed, “We were told, on our very first night there, that people were going to treat us like criminals, that no matter what we did, we never be able to shake off the reputation of Slytherin – the House that produced the most Dark Wizards…” he huffed, “They didn’t let us have a choice. Most of our parents had been involved with the Death Eaters during the first war were too scared to say no the second time, and then during that battle in Hogwarts, everyone called us cowards for leaving but no one stopped to think that it would be our parents we would have had to fight…”

“I’m sorry too.” The brunet said, “I wasn’t exactly innocent, back then. I always suspected you first whenever something happened, always just saw the bad – the pompous, egoistic, slimy git who insulted the first friend I had ever had in my life,” they both chuckled lightly, “I’m sorry.”

Draco nodded, silently accepting the apology, his heart swelling with emotions he could hardly name. Not that it mattered. This was nice, and that was all he needed to know right now.

* * *

 

Lunch dates (were they dates? Harry had the feeling that they very well might be just that…) turned into breakfast and dinner and movie nights and it was after such one night, a Lord of the Rings marathon, that both Harry and Draco were in Harry’s kitchen. Draco was sitting at the table reading out especially ludicrous articles from the Prophet while Harry was making breakfast, when the fireplace lit up in green flames and Ron stumbled into the room.

“Hermione said to bring you this, she must have missed you yes –” his eyes fell on Draco, “terday…”

The red-head blinked multiple times, his mouth opening and closing, lost for words as his eyes switched from Harry to Draco and back to Harry. In his hand, Ron held an envelope which Harry recognized as a report from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“Thank you, Ron,” Harry said, startling the taller man out of his stupor, “Just put it on the table.”

“Would you like breakfast?” Draco asked from were he was sitting, his feet lying on the table, “Harry makes extraordinary omelettes.”

Ron blinked again. Once. Twice.

“No.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind. I was just about to read about Miss Helen Jackson and her marriage to a ghost.”

Ron blinked.

“I’ll – er – I’ll just…leave…”

Casting one disturbed look back at Harry and Draco, Ron stepped into the fireplace and called out, “The Burrow.”

“Well.” Draco folded the paper to put it away. “That was awkward.”

“It’s always like that,” Harry replied shortly and turned back to the stove but he was sure that Draco hadn’t missed the sullen note underneath or the sadness in his eyes.

“Do you require help?” Draco asked, obviously trying to change the subject – Harry snorted, grateful for the offer.

“What? And let you cook? I don’t bloody think so.”

“Excuse me, I’m an excellent cook.”

“You’re a horrible cook,” the wizard shot back, smirking at the frying pan in front of him. It was true. Draco couldn’t cook to save his life, not that Harry blamed him exactly. Unlike him, the blond hadn’t learned to prepare meals as soon as he could stand on his own two feet, and now that Draco was living with his mother, Narcissa overtook all the cooking.

“Sometimes I wonder if she does it so I would see her as useful,” Draco had confided in him once, “I think she’s afraid of losing me too.” And Harry really couldn’t fault her for that.

It wasn’t until much later, Harry and Draco had moved on to the sofa of the Drawing Room, when the old Black estate received another unannounced visitor.

“Harry,” one Ginevra Weasley greeted him, “Malfoy.”

“Ginny?!”

The younger woman closed the door behind herself, a cup of tea in her hand, and walked over to the table in front of the sofa where she sat down cross-legged.

“Ron told you then.” Harry stated and Ginny nodded.

“Ron told me. Or rather, he ranted at me. Me and everyone else in the house.” She took a sip of her tea and grimaced when she undoubtfully burned her tongue. “It’s nice to see you two finally getting along,” she commented, surprising Harry – he would have expected more of a fight from his ex-girlfriend, “Also, Hermione told me you resigned your job?”

“What?” Draco cut in.

“Yeah…sorry,” Harry turned towards his friend, “I forgot to tell you. Sent the letter a few days ago.”

Draco nodded, a weird expression on his face. Pride, maybe? “Good for you,” he said, a sincere smile breaking the frown that he had sported since Ginny had walked in.

“Naturally, Ron blamed that on you, Malfoy,” Ginny continued, “Bloody idiot. That’s both of you, by the way.” The turned her attention back on Harry and it was moments like this that Harry truly saw how much Ginny was truly Molly’s daughter, her face strict yet kind, her posture confident. “Really, this is getting ridiculous. Just because you’re both too stubborn to take the first step…this is fourth year all over again.”

“Except it’s different,” Harry muttered under his breath even though he secretly had to agree with Ginny. It was a bit ridiculous.

Ginny rolled her eyes but seemed to have decided to drop the subject for now. “That’s not why I’m here, though,” she said and took a deep breath, “I’m pregnant.”

Harry chocked on air, his eyes growing wide, “What? Wow…that’s…wow! I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

“He’s…er…he’s with the Magpies so…we’d agreed to keep it quiet but now…well…”

“I’m happy for you, Ginny,” Harry said, smiling broadly now that he had somewhat digested the news.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Congratulations, Weasley,” Draco muttered, he seemed awkward, unsure on how to behave, which was weirdly endearing.

“Ginny,” Ginny corrected the blond, “And thank you, Draco.” With one big gulp, Ginny emptied the cup of tea and stood up. “I’d better get back… but, Harry…please talk to Ron. You’re both grown-ups, you should behave like it.”

“Now you sound like Hermione,” Harry teased her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Shut up. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Take care, Ginny.”

“You too. Draco.” She gave Draco a nod and a small smile before walking out of the room, leaving Harry and Draco alone on the sofa.

“So…” Draco began after a while, “You resigned, then.”

“I did.”

Harry half expected Draco to ask what he had planned next but it never came and maybe he really shouldn’t be surprised. Hermione and Ron had always tried to make him talk, had asked question after question, had made assumptions with the hope of him contradicting them, but Draco…Draco didn’t do that. He made offers, created opportunities, but never pushed, he let Harry take the lead and if Harry should choose not to talk about something, he accepted it without question. The thing was…Harry did want to talk about it.

“I made a list,” the Gryffindor muttered. Draco remained silent but even though he wasn’t looking at the blond, Harry could practically see one of Draco’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arch up in a silent question. “I made a list of things I enjoy. Truly enjoy.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Do you…do you want to see it?” Harry asked, feeling inexplicably nervous as he turned his head to look at Draco.

“Do you want to show me?” Draco replied, his expression soft and calm.

_Yeah_ , Harry thought, _I do_.

Instead of answering, the brunet pulled out his wand and summoned the list from his desk.

“It’s not much.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Harry cleared his throat and unfolded the piece of paper in his hand, “So, first there’s Quidditch, obviously, ‘though it’s too late for me to play professionally and I’m not sure I’d enjoy that – I see the stress Ginny’s under – but, anything to do with flying, really…Department of Magical Games and Sports, maybe, sports editor for a newspaper, flying instructor…I dunno…it’s always made happy. Flying. Some of my best memories are on a broomstick, it makes me feel…free, y’know?”

“Yeah…I know what you mean.” And Draco probably did.

“Then there’s cooking.” Harry blushed lightly. “It’s weird…my aunt and uncle forced me to learn it but…I genuinely enjoy it…I’m good at it. And lastly there – er – there was the DA.”

“Dumbledore’s Army?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, “That. It was nice…being there with my friends…teaching them stuff. Helping them.”

“Do you want to hear my opinion?” Draco asked and that was another thing Harry liked about the Slytherin. He didn’t force his opinion on Harry but let him decide whether he wanted to hear it or not.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what exactly you lot did in that room but I do know what I saw in the final battle. And I do know that they didn’t learn all that stuff from classes. That was you, Harry, you taught them that. And you did a fantastic job of it. So…if you want my opinion, I think you should owl McGonagall and ask her about the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts…I’m sure she’d be delighted to have you.”

There was something in Draco’s eyes, something like admiration, like wonder, like desire, something honest and unmasked and Harry could feel his own heart racing in his chest, blood rushing threw his ears, his own breath heavy in his lungs.

“Harry…” Draco breathed out, their faces impossibly close, stormy grey eyes meeting emerald green.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” Harry muttered.

“Then why don’t you?” It was a challenge but there was also fear, an uncertainty that Harry had only just learned to see underneath the façade.

* * *

 

It was barely more than a gentle brush of lips, the idea of a kiss, but it was enough.

“Draco –” he could feel Harry’s lips move against his own.

“Don’t talk,” he whispered, _please don’t say sorry, please don’t say you shouldn’t have done that_. And, for once in his life, Harry listened.

Instead of saying something, he pressed their lips together once more, firmer this time but still gentle, careful, and this was just like flying, a sense of freedom, of invincibility, overcame him, made him lightheaded and he couldn’t stop himself – raising one hand behind Harry’s head, he pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Draco had no idea how long they stayed like that, exploring each other with hands and lips and tongues. Five minutes? Five hours? It was too soon, way too soon, when they parted, faces flushed and lips swollen, but they didn’t move far. Draco’s eyes scanned Harry’s face for any sign of regret but there was none, just a shy smile and a deep blush. Draco found he liked both.

They lay back, Draco’s head on Harry’s chest and Harry’s arms wrapped around Draco’s body, legs entwined, breathing in sync, time falling away from them.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

* * *

 

It was July, the sun burning down on them, hot and bright, and no breeze in sight.

Harry and the rest of the professors had gone down to Hogsmeade for an ‘end-of-the-year-drink’, well, most of them anyway…Neville had said his goodbyes as soon as the Hogwarts Express had left, Minerva leaving soon after him, and now it was just Harry.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to go home, quite the contrary actually, it was just…he would leave Hogwarts. Again. Sure, he would get to come in September but…it still felt strange. His first year as the new DADA teacher had gone wonderfully. The kids seemed to love him and the teachers respected him and Draco had come by almost every weekend to visit.

Draco.

The blond had been up to something, Harry was sure. He just couldn’t think of _what_. Draco and Narcissa had both temporarily moved into Grimmauld Place when Harry had left for Hogwarts, saying they wanted to look after the house while he was gone, saying it would give them more space. Hippogriff dung if you asked Harry. Mind, Draco was a spectacular liar but Harry prided himself with being able to see right through him by now. Mostly anyway. No…Draco had been planning something and Harry wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what it was…The last time, Draco had had a surprise for him, they had both ended up nearly naked and soaking wet in the back of a taxi.

But was no use…he would have to go back to his miserable, old house sooner or later or he might as well get it over with. Draining the last of his Butterbeer, Harry walked towards the fireplace and stepped into the flames.

“SURPRISE!”

Harry winced at the sudden noise and the people welcoming him. Why were there so many people in his kitchen? Slightly dazed, Harry took in the crowd in front of him: there were Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur with Dominique and Louis, Hermione and Ron with Hugo and Rose, George and Angelina with Fred and Roxanne, Charlie, and lastly, Ginny with a guy that Harry distantly recognized as the Keeper and Captain of the Montrose Magpies, Jeff Allan. There was Neville and Hannah, Dean and Seamus, Luna, Hagrid, and Minerva. Harry could see Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and, for some reason, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Gregory Goyle. But the only people Harry actually had eyes for were Andromeda, Teddy, Narcissa, and Draco who stood in the middle of it all, grinning widely.

“Potter,” Draco said in a mocking of his old sneer.

“Draco…what are all these people doing here?” Harry asked as he carefully stepped forward.

“They helped me,” Draco answered and pulled Harry into a hug.

“Helped you? Helped you with what?”

Draco sighed. “So oblivious,” he muttered and only then did Harry take in the rest of the room.

“Draco-”

“There it is…”

“-where the hell am I and what happened to my kitchen?”

Harry was actually considering the possibility that he had entered the wrong house…the walls, once dark, were now almost white, a warm colour that seemed to be glowing by itself – there were windows, that Harry was certain hadn’t been there before, and the furniture was brand new. It was clean and friendly and _welcoming_ …

“Wait till you see the rest?” Draco almost whispered.

“The rest?”

“Come on.” Draco took hold of Harry’s hand and gently led him towards the staircase to he ground floor and Harry realised that the whole house had changed. The walls were painted in green and red swirls on a white background, ever-moving, ever-changing, the troll foot was gone, so was Walburga’s portrait – in its place was now a large window with colourful glass and it took Harry a moment to realise that the colours showed a phoenix, beautiful and burning, dousing the entry hall in red light.

“How…?” Harry breathed as he looked around.

“I told you,” Draco answered, “I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies.” He gave Harry his trademark smirk but Harry could see the nervousness underneath, the uncertainty, the fear.

“I love it,” he said in earnest before deciding that that was not enough, not nearly enough, “I love you.”

Draco’s eyes grew wide and his mask slipped as he processed the words. It was the first time either of them had said them.

“I love you, too.”

They grinned at each other stupidly, childishly, soaring with happiness in this new, old house, where he was surrounded by his friends and family.

“Oi, lovebirds!” came Ron’s voice from down the stairs, “Food’s ready and I’m starving!”

“Guess we better get back, then,” Harry muttered, not ready to let go of Draco’s hand.

“Guess we do.”

They joined the others, hand in hand. They ate and talked and laughed. They were happy.

And all was well.


End file.
